


In the Heat of the Moment

by whoawicked



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Undertale, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-11-05 19:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17924828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoawicked/pseuds/whoawicked
Summary: You didn't want to wallow in your self pity any longer, so you pulled yourself up by your bootstraps.  A promising job listing led you here, in the middle of the frigid New Snowdin district of Ebott City.  The smell of cooked beef and what you now knew to be fire magic drifted from the building, seeming to invite you in with its warmth.  Somehow, despite the welcoming aroma, a strange chill rolled down your spine.  You couldn't place your finger on the source of your unease, but you chocked it up to pre-interview nerves.You wondered if you were making the right decision as you looked up at the giant golden lettering that spelled a somewhat peculiar name:G R I L L B Y ' S.





	1. Denial

Your name is unimportant.  The town you came from is equally insignificant.  The same goes for your family, your education, your money, your problems— none of it matters anymore.  

 

You felt lifeless as you laid on the double bed you had shared with your lover, staring at the white popcorn ceiling, memorizing every little detail.  You listened to the washing machine down the hall, boiling away his stench from your bedsheets with hottest water it could muster. You’d wondered if he’d slept with her in  _ your own— _

 

Your eyes were hot with tears and rage.  You bit your lip as you felt a fresh wave of sorrow roll over you, pulling you into the undertow.

 

You cried again, and you hated that.  You covered your face with your palms, too ashamed to let the walls see you so broken.  How could you have been so stupid? You wailed and hollered and curled up on your side as you thought about that  _ goddamned son of a bitch. _

 

Crying was exhausting.  Soon your cries turned to quiet sobs and sniffles, as that was all you could muster, but the sadness and deceit you felt were no less severe.  He left you feeling empty, and all that emptiness seemed to envelop you in a cold, wet blanket. Breathing was difficult under the weight of it all.  You gave in. You slept for sixteen and a half hours. 

 

You didn’t feel refreshed when you woke up at a normal time the next day.  You didn’t feel ready to take on the day. You wanted to go back to sleep, and you did so for another three hours.  

 

Waking up again felt surreal.  You looked at your hand. Was that yours?  Was this real? It didn’t feel real. You checked your phone.  The boss had tried to call you five times. You listened to the voicemail— Where the hell are you?  We needed you today. Don’t bother coming back. You’re fucking fired.

 

What were you supposed to do now?

 

First, you ate some dry toast and drank the last few sips of orange juice you had left in the fridge.  Alone at your kitchen table, you just listened to yourself chew and gulp. It sounded louder than you remembered.  The sheets you’d been washing were all musty from sitting in the wash, so you reset the wash cycle. You hopped in the shower and scrubbed your skin raw with your loofah.  

 

You felt proud, like you were persevering.  Maybe today would be okay. Maybe you were lying to yourself.  You were definitely lying to yourself.

 

You made some tea, sat on your couch, and pulled up your old laptop to begin looking for another job.  Rent was coming up in a few weeks, after all— your share along with  _ his _ .

 

You were a server by trade.  That’s all you’d ever known. You decided you’d start there.  

 

The search started at ebbotjobs.com.  The “human” tab brought you to the portion of the website meant for human employees.  Your fingers poked at the keys to spell out “server” in the search bar. Enter.

 

You took a sip of tea and began sorting through the entries.  Mostly wanted ads for chain restaurants and catering gigs— not your style.  You wanted something small. Cozy. Something like…

 

**Help Wanted ASAP - Server at Monster Bar in Downtown Ebbot**

 

Yeah.  Like that.

 

**Seeking experienced M/H to serve food at famous Underground bar.  Must be friendly, hard-working, punctual, and willing to work nights and weekends.  Contact Grillby.**

 

There wasn’t much to the listing, but you liked what you saw.  A famous Monster bar? That could be cool. It was downtown, too, which meant higher ticket prices and bigger tips.  You noted the ‘M/H’ in the listing, meaning that they were willing to hire either humans or Monsters. You guessed that the owner is likely pretty tolerant towards either.  Though, if it’s a Monster bar, it’s probably owned by a Monster.

 

Another sip of tea.  The idea of working for a Monster establishment certainly wasn’t off-putting.  You weren’t intolerant towards the Monsters, by any means, but you’d be lying if you said you were one hundred percent comfortable around them.  Maybe you could use this as an opportunity to get out of your comfort zone. After all, just another bar ran by humans is going to feel like you never left your old job at all.  

 

Your lips pursed as you realized your hands had begun shaking over the keyboard.

 

You frowned when you noticed the listing didn’t have a phone number, only an address.  You had to apply in person? You sighed, closed your laptop, and went to get dressed. Now would be as good a time as any to see if the owner was interested in hiring you.

 

* * *

 

You’d gotten a little lost on the way there, but the big golden letters over the bar’s awning signified that you’d found the right place:  _ G R I L L B Y ‘ S. _

 

What you hadn’t realized before you left, however, was that the bar was smack in the middle of the New Snowdin district.  The Monsters that had lived in Old Snowdin in the Underground had become so accustomed to the cold weather and snow that characterized their town that the King was asked to cast a spell of ice magic over New Snowdin to keep its climate consistent with its underground counterpart.

 

And that was fine and dandy for the Monsters, but your little human feet felt like they were getting frostbitten right in your black pumps.  After all, you hadn’t expected to be trekking through a couple inches of snow in the middle of July. 

 

The little brass bell above the door tolled to signal your entrance into the bar, and you took a moment to tap your toes against the mat on the floor to dust off the snow and slush.

 

The bar was warm, you noticed, the warmth not unlike when you stick your face over the oven door to peek in on some baking food.  It smelled of seared beef and… well, just seared food in general. It smelled good. As your eyes adjusted to the somewhat dim light of the bar, you began sizing up the patrons.  A pack of white dog Monsters sat at a table playing cards on your left, and on your right sat a bunny Monster that was obviously well past her tolerance level on the Monster drinks.

 

You adjusted your purse over your shoulder again as you took your first strides toward the bar.  A wave of trepidation crawled up your spine as you heard the wet noses of the dog Monsters take in your scent as you passed them by.

 

“Human?”

 

“A human.”

 

Their murmurs and soft barks and growls to each other made you feel like an outsider.  You regretted coming here already. 

 

You squeezed your hips between two bar stools at the counter, folding your forearms over the bar as you searched for any employee at all to speak with.  You made the mistake of glancing over at the hooded patron to your right. You could have sworn he was face-down when you first walked in, no doubt in the throes of some sort of Monster drinking stupor, but now you had found yourself staring at a couple of black holes set within the porcelain skull of a very happy skeleton Monster. 

 

“you lost, kid?”

 

The voice didn’t sound angry, but genuinely concerned.  You wondered how he was able to talk without moving his mouth.  

 

“I, um.  Is this the right place?  I’m looking for Grillby?”

 

“he’s in the back,” the skeleton replied, jerking his thumb in the general direction of the kitchen door, “but he’ll be up in a jiff.”

 

“Oh, thanks.”  You smiled awkwardly, but politely, and avoided further eye contact.  Instead, your gaze focused down at your fingers. You had a hangnail on your left index finger.  You began picking at it when the Monster spoke to you again.

 

“you here about the job?”

 

You nodded.  “Yeah. Do you work here, or…?”

 

His grin only seemed to get wider.  “i’m a regular. i’ve known grillbz since… well, forever.  we’re best buds. he tells me pretty much everything that’s goin’ on here.”

 

You didn’t know what else to say.  You turned back to your hangnail and peeled it off.  Ouch. 

 

“you okay, kid?”  He seemed to get a little closer, inspecting you.  You smelled ketchup on his breath. 

 

You had to make a conscious effort to pry your hands apart from the other before they could do anymore damage.  You decided to keep them safe by tucking them under your armpits. “I’m fine, just a little nervous.”

 

“don’t be.  grillby’s a pretty cool monster once he warms up to you.”

 

You wondered about the weird emphasis he placed on the words “cool” and “warm.”  Was it a joke? Maybe an inside joke. 

 

You heard the kitchen door open.  The skeleton told you, “ahh, there he is.  the hottest monster around.”

 

It all clicked when you saw him.  He was tall, poised, and— well, engulfed in flames.  Orange and gold fire masked the majority of his silhouette, but you could make out a chest and waistline under the classic black and white vest he wore.  He was thin, but not so thin that you thought he might be a bad cook. Small, rectangular glasses sat just above a little patch of fire that acted as a nose.  You saw no mouth, and so it came as no surprise that Grillby said nothing as he slid a plate of french fries in front of the skeleton. 

 

“thanks, g,” he piped up in gratitude.

 

And then Grillby turned towards you expectantly, cocking his flaming brow in curiosity.  You stared back at him through the lenses of his glasses, making out the little divots and shapes in the flames that made up his facial features.

 

You pulled your elbows from the bar and stood up straight as you abruptly recalled your manners towards prospective employment.  You were here for an interview, after all, not to gawk at the Monsters. 

 

“Hi, you must be Grillby,” you started with a friendly smile, but the reaction was mostly a customer service force of habit.  You were nearly shaking from how nervous you were, but you somehow managed to find your courage in the bottom of your stomach.  “My name is  ~~**[REDACTED]** ~~ .  I saw your help wanted ad, and I’d like to apply for the position.”

 

Grillby nodded curtly.  “Resumé?”

 

Oh.  His mouth appeared where any other human’s might be.  The flames parted to form the word on his lips, tendrils of magic and fire stretching to keep attached to both sides.  It looked fascinating. Equally fascinating was the voice itself— velvety and layered, like a tenor melody.

 

“Of course.”  You feigned ignorance of your fascination.  You dug into your bag to pull out said document, presenting it to him proudly.  Grillby uncrossed his arms and took your resume into his bare hand. You marveled that it didn’t combust upon contact.  He must be able to control his fire with the magic within his body. He took a dignified finger and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and began reading.  

 

Another nod a few moments later indicated his satisfaction with your experience.  “Desired salary?”

 

“Uhh.  Minimum wage against tips?”

 

“When can you start?”

 

You hesitated, but told him, “Immediately.”

 

An apron was thrown at you from behind the counter.

 

“Table three needs busing.”

 

* * *

 

Working again was a good way to get your mind off of.         

_ things. _

 

You spent all day listening to Grillby tell you what to do, which consisted of mostly cleaning his bar rather than serving food.  You cleaned the windows, the door knobs, the tables, the chairs, the sticky jukebox covered in what looked like caked-on ketchup from a few weeks ago.  You felt mortified when you mopped the floor only to have a dog Monster purposefully spill his full drink onto your mop. 

 

He smirked at you with a lit dog treat in his mouth.

 

You whipped around to look at your boss indignantly, expecting the Monster to be reprimanded in some capacity for this kind of hazing.  Grillby’s arms had only folded rather firmly as he eyed the table of chortling dog Monsters, and they seemed to quiet down from his posture alone.  

 

You still had to go to the back sink to wash the sticky Monster drink out of the mop. 

 

When you came back out of the swinging door from the kitchen, you were nearly startled by Grillby’s voice to your left.  “Take a break. I’m not a slave driver.” He was polishing a glass, and didn’t bother to glance in your direction at all.  You held your tongue from pushing out a few choice words towards your rather bossy new boss. You didn’t want to be too snarky on your first day.  

 

You sat at the end of the bar, and the skeleton Monster, who had recently introduced himself as Sans, left his own stool and seated himself right next to yours.

 

“he doesn’t like cleaning,” Sans informed you. 

 

You scoffed and muttered, “Neither do I.”  Your gaze settled on Grillby as he continued to polish glasses further down the bar.  Hm.

 

“he’d do it himself, but, see— he doesn’t go near anything wet.  for obvious reasons.”

 

You blinked at Sans, then glanced at the fire elemental down the bar.

 

Oh.  Right.

 

Sans seemed to think of something funny, and chuckled a bit before telling you, “i think he likes you.”

 

“Oh yeah?  What gave you that idea?”  You took a sip of some tap water you’d poured from behind the bar.  It tasted burnt.

 

Sans shrugged.  “the last human that came in here for the job was canned after two days.  the last  _ monster? _  left on his own accord after only half of his shift.”

 

“Well, boss here seems a bit grouchy.  I don’t blame them.”

 

“he’s actually less grouchy than usual today,” Sans pondered with his hand on his chin in mock contemplation.  “maybe he’s just in a good mood, or maybe... he actually likes you.” He shrugged, non-committal. “who’s to say?”

 

You groaned, allowing your head to fall into your hands.

 

“that’s the spirit, kid.”

 

Sans gave you a firm pat on the back and left you a nice tip before he left.  

 

Grillby caught you by the back of your collar before you went back to the kitchen, nearly choking you in the process. 

 

“H-Hey, what the—?”

 

He proceeded to rip a note from your back that read as follows:

 

**trip me: 3 points**

**spill your drink on me: 5 points**

**backhanded compliment: 20 points**

**tip me in nickels and dimes: 50 points**

**tip me in pennies: 100 points**

**pay entire tab in pennies: 500 points**

**make me quit: 10,000,000 points**

 

“What the— When did that— Who did...?” 

 

The corner of the note was covered in dried ketchup.

 

Grillby said nothing as he simply crumpled the note up in his fist and used his magic to combust the paper into a smoldering pile of ashes. 

 

“Table six needs another round.”

 

* * *

 

Closing time couldn’t come sooner.  Grillby announced the last call, and shortly thereafter the patrons began filing out (with some stumbling out).  You felt relieved to lock the door behind the last Monster.

 

It was after you had wiped down the last tables and flipped all the chairs that you were able to sit down and count your tips.  The dogs didn’t leave much, but with the others’ and Sans’s tips, you felt like today was worth getting out of bed. You sighed heavily, allowing your head to hang between your shoulders as you looked down at your swollen ankles.  At least it was time to go ho—

 

. . .  . . .

 

And it was then that you realized that you didn’t actually want to go home.  You wanted more work. You  _ needed _ more work.  You felt nauseated thinking about sleeping in that bed.  You would work all night if you could. Could you?

 

You shuffled into the kitchen to find Grillby hard at work scrubbing his grill with some cleaning magic.  

 

“Hey, boss?”

 

Grillby paused the long, broad strokes of his arms as he passed a rag over the grill grates to look at you, silently cocking his brow.

 

“I’ve cleaned up most of what I can.  Is there anything else you want me to do?  Maybe prep some food for tomorrow?”

 

Grillby simply shook his head before going back to scrubbing.  “Go home. Get some rest. You worked hard today, and I appreciate that.  Come back at nine in the morning. I’ll teach you how to open the restaurant.”

 

You shifted your weight uncomfortably.  “A-Are you sure there’s nothing? Nothing at all?”  You didn’t know where the stutter came from. Was it fear?  Maybe your bottom lip was quivering because you’re a stupid baby that has to cry all the fucking time.

 

Grillby once again paused his scrubbing, this time straightening up to turn and examine you.  

 

“If you stay, I can’t pay you for your time,” he informed you. 

 

“That’s okay.  I like to keep busy.”

 

Grillby studied you a bit more before seeming to catch on.  “...Is something wrong?”

 

“No.”  You meant for it to sound more convincing than it did. 

 

Grillby was quiet for what felt like a long time as he pondered his options.  He breathed a sigh through his nose, finally, and held out his rag to you. It was dripping with green magic.  “Finish the grill. Mop the kitchen when you’re done.”

 

You pursed your lips and gingerly took the rag from him, feeling the residual heat from his body lingering on the magic-soaked rag.  You rolled up your sleeves and began scrubbing the grill grates.

 

You scrubbed it well until it was clean and shiny.  You focused on it. You made sure not to think of anything else.  You wiped your hands on your apron when you were done, and then grabbed the mop and bucket.  You mopped until you had blisters on your palms. Your high heels were killing your feet, but you stood your ground as you put your whole weight into every stroke of the mop.  You didn’t think you’ve ever cleaned this hard before. 

 

In the meantime, Grillby stepped outside to take a smoke or two.  Cigarettes, not those disgusting dog treats that his canine patrons seemed so fond of.  Halfway through the first, he poked his head into the kitchen to make sure you were doing okay.  He found you still at work with an almost machine-like focus on your task. He watched the sweat bead at your hairline as you worked, the way your breath huffed past your pink lips as you exerted yourself.  

 

He just... watched you.  

 

In fact, he found himself struggling to pull his attention anywhere else.  He felt something stir in his soul as he watched you. He was so focused on you that he didn’t notice he had smoked all of his cigarette.  He tried to take a drag on nothing but the cotton filter, throwing him into a coughing fit. Clouds of soot-laden vapor escaped from his lungs as he hacked until he was able to regain his composure.

 

. . .  . . .

 

You didn’t hear him as he approached you.  You smelled the residual cigarette smoke as it wafted toward you shortly before he spoke.

 

“Do you have a place to go tonight?”

 

He knew something was up.  You looked back at him sheepishly, letting the mop hang loosely in your fingers to avoid the open blisters.  “I’m not homeless,” you muttered.

 

“But you don’t want to go home?”  

 

When you didn’t respond, Grillby breathed a sigh through his nose.  He took a long pause, his eyes seeming to stare right through you as he pondered what he was about to say.

 

“I’m not stupid,” he began with a gentle sigh.  “I can see that something is wrong. I’m not going to ask what or why.  I don’t want to know. What I’m  _ going _ to do is offer a night in my guest room upstairs.”

 

“N-No,” you sputtered behind a nervous laugh, “I appreciate it, but I really can’t, I—”

 

Grillby held out his hand to stop you.  “I understand that you feel that you need to decline out of politeness, or maybe because you work for me and you feel that it would be strange to sleep in my home after only knowing me for a few hours.  Whatever the reason, it is unwarranted. I’m not a murderer, I’m a small business owner. So— I am going to ask you once more, with the expectation that you will accept my offer on the second try.  Okay?” 

 

Your jaw clenched as you listened to Grillby.  He sounded so sincere and caring, and you felt that he had no reason to be this way towards a total stranger, let alone a human.  And yet, you didn’t want to go back to your apartment. You had too many painful memories there. At the same time, you didn’t want to put this on your new boss.  It would be entirely unprofessional, not to mention dangerous. What if he  _ was _ a murderer?  Don’t  _ all _ murderers claim not to be murderers?

 

You nervously picked at your nails, avoiding his gaze.  Your hands began to tremble as your mind pondered your options.  

 

As promised, Grillby once again asked you, “Would you like a place to stay tonight?”

 

Did you really want to do this?  

 

You white-knuckled your fists to steady your nerves and your voice, letting the pain of your new blisters steel your resolve.  You knew what you had to say to save yourself from the heartache of going back to that goddamned apartment you had shared with—

 

“Yes.  Please.”


	2. Anger

The crunching sound of car tires carefully rolling through the slush and snow pierced the freezing air.  You held your arms across your chest as you shivered, waiting somewhat impatiently for Grillby to lock up the bar.  You studied the dark, rocky silhouette of Mt. Ebott as it loomed behind the city.  

 

“This way,” he told you as he finished turning the lock.  He pulled his navy peacoat taut around his form as he began stepping into the fresh snow, toward the doorway a few paces away.  You followed suit, like a lost duckling. 

 

His loft was at the end of an ascending staircase.  Some jingling of keys later, and he swung open his door to reveal a lovely Monster home.  The air smelled of fire magic and something spicy, and the scent brought back a distant memory from your childhood that you had long since forgotten.  The exposed red brick walls gave the studio a certain vintage aesthetic, as did the dark hardwood flooring that creaked as you walked. Modest furniture populated the studio, complete with a sofa, television, and coffee table.  You noticed a coffee mug still sitting on the table, no doubt from earlier today.

 

“It’s not much,” he humbly proclaimed as he hung his coat upon a coat rack adjacent to the entryway, “but I hope you can enjoy your night here.”

 

“It’s lovely,” you affirmed as you placed your purse on his table.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

A better question would be when was the last time you had eaten anything?  You had nibbled on some fries in the kitchen when Grillby wasn’t looking, but a few stray fries here and there does not make for a substantial meal.

 

“You’re offering to cook for me, too?” you quipped behind a nervous smile.  With some luck, you thought you might be able to sprinkle some humor into this awkward situation. 

 

“I’m offering to heat an extra portion of my leftover dinner from two nights ago,” he called to you while sticking his head into his refrigerator.  He pulled out a couple of blue tupperware containers. “I’m sure this is more nutritious than those french fries you pilfered earlier.” He flashed you a subtle, yet knowing grin, obviously countering your earlier attempt at humor with his own. 

 

You smiled sheepishly and graciously accepted his leftovers. He’s just as bad at jokes as you are. 

 

* * *

 

Dinner was mostly quiet aside from your humming compliments on his cooking.  

 

When he began clearing away your cleaned plate, you snapped back into your situation at large.  “H-Hey, um... A-At least let me do the dishes for you, Mr. Grillby,” you pleaded.

 

“Not necessary,” he replied matter-of-factly, punctuated with a small wave of his hand.  “I have a dishwasher for that.” Grillby yanked the door open to said appliance and began loading it with your dirty plates and silverware.  “And please, just call me Grillby.”  

 

You watched him load up the dishwasher as guilt trickled down the back of your neck.  He had shown you nothing but kindness and selflessness since the moment you set foot in his restaurant, and yet you couldn’t do anything to return the favor.  You had no money to buy him anything, you had no special skills to create or repair anything for him. Did they make greeting cards for this sort of thing?

 

“You don’t need to repay me for my generosity,” Grillby continued, seeming to read the palpable unease around you.  He slung his kitchen towel over his shoulder as he looked back at you with his lips pulled into a straight line. “I simply ask that you return the favor for someone else in need when you have the means to help them.”

 

“So that’s why you’re helping me?”  You tried to keep your tone down so that you didn’t sound accusatory.  “Just for the sake of helping someone in need?”

 

Grillby shut the door to the dishwasher and pressed the button to run it.

 

“You seem dissatisfied with that answer.”

 

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you admitted.

 

“You remind me of myself,” he started after a beat, “when I was younger and still working for my uncle.”  Grillby turned to begin wiping down his countertop despite there not being a mess to clean. Must be a habit.

 

“My mother passed away when I was a child,” he explained further, still wiping his counter.  He sounded so calm, so  _ over  _ his significant loss.  You envied that. “After she passed, I was sent to live with my uncle in Snowdin since I never knew my father, nor did I have any family left in the capital.  He started me as a busboy in his restaurant.”  

 

You heard a faint smile in his voice as he paused his cleaning, but never turned around to face you.  “It was hard work,” he continued, “so hard that I came home every night with blisters and aching feet, and my clothes always smelled terrible.  My uncle was very demanding of me, but I was grateful to have something to keep my mind off my mother’s passing. It was grueling work, to be sure, but I was grateful for it.  I focused on earning my pay and perfecting my work instead of dwelling on how much I missed my mother.”

 

You picked at your nails nervously as you listened to him.  You could see where he drew the parallels between you, especially as your gaze drifted down towards your own blisters.  Could he see how broken you were when you first met him?  

 

...Was that the only reason he had hired you?  Because you looked  _ sad? _

 

Your thoughts began to reverse from grateful to resentful.  Your cheeks reddened with steaming shame, and you could feel the cold sweat on your back as your body kicked you into a fight or flight stance.  You abruptly stood from your chair, your tone drenched in underlying malice as you hissed at him, “I really didn’t want the job because you thought I  _ needed _ it.”

 

Grillby turned to face you when he heard the chair legs scrape across his floor, but he didn’t seem concerned with your defensive tone.  “Most people need jobs,” he simply replied.

 

“Then—” you scrambled, “Then I don’t need a job just because you  _ pity _ me.”

 

After all, how dare this man— no—this  _ Monster _ pity you?  You needed  _ no  _ pity.  Not from him, not from anyone.  You could take care of yourself.  What were you even doing here? You should have been at your apartment, throwing away  **_his_ ** things and moving on with your life.  Grillby didn’t even  _ know _ what happened to you!  How dare this  _ presumptuous— _

 

_ No.  Calm down. _

 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”  You came to terms with saving face at this point.  You didn’t want to be here. You were emotionally vulnerable and maybe didn’t make the best decision when you said you’d stay with him.  Even though it hurt to stay in that apartment alone, you could use the pain as fuel to keep going, to be strong. You could easily find another job, somewhere run by humans.  You made a mistake.  You don’t belong here.  

 

“And— Look, Grillby, thanks for dinner,” you started, gathering your things. “And— and I’m sorry for your loss, and everything, but—”

 

“I’m sorry for yours.”

 

Your words caught in your throat. 

 

‘Loss’?  

 

It burned your ears to hear it.  You did not “lose” that son of a bitch— it was not a  _ tragedy _ .  He  _ cheated _ on you.  

 

No.  Stop.  You shouldn’t be wasting so much of your energy on these worthless emotions just because some  _ asshole _ couldn’t see your innate worth as a person.  You were so much better off without  **_him_ ** !  What did  _ Grillby _ even know?  He doesn’t know anything about you.  How dare he judge you like he’s so perfect to begin with…!

 

Your fight or flight response was already cocked, but that was the last straw.  You nearly leapt out of your chair and over to Grillby with fire in your eyes— not because you were angry at him, but because you were angry with yourself.  You wanted to lash out at the world, but instead you were on track to lash out at the nearest bystander.  With gritted teeth and hot tears threatening to bubble into ugly sobbing again, you raised your hand to strike him with your open palm.

 

But Grillby snatched your wrist in his grip before you had even raised it all the way.  Your blind rage was immediately replaced with regret and apprehension. “What are you— Let go of me!” you ordered shakily, attempting to tug your arm free.  His hand felt warm, but didn’t burn like you had expected.  The magic of his body licked across your skin and gave you goosebumps.  

 

Grillby remained steeled, even as you barked at him to release you.  His grip on your tiny wrist didn’t loosen despite your attempts to pull free.  He could have apologized for offending you, or for crossing a certain personal boundary during your heightened emotional state.  He could have kicked you out of his home for attempting to assault you. He could have used his magic to bind you until the proper authorities arrived to arrest you for attempted assault.

 

He could have done any or all of those things, but he did something entirely unexpected instead—  After a brief moment of inner thought on his part, somehow allowing his more irrational side to garner control, Grillby yanked your arm over his shoulder and pulled you into a tender kiss.  

 

Taken by surprise, your eyes widened as your mind attempted to register the new sensation of being kissed by a purely magical being.  His lips felt like a hot summer day as they meshed with your own, and his breath smelled like a freshly lit campfire.  

 

Out of all the things you expected to happen today, this was not one of them.  

 

The kiss was, for lack of better words, calming.  The lump in your throat disappeared as you focused on his lips pressed against yours.  You liked it.  

 

He was careful to respect your reciprocation or lack thereof, but your anger and grief slowly melted away, allowing you to fall into the kiss without much more hesitation.  Your arm slowly relaxed as you fell victim to his seductive spell, and you found yourself closing your eyes and wrapping your other arm around his neck. Grillby’s warm hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer to him as you embraced each other.  His fingers slipped under your shirt to touch the bare skin on the small of your back, and you could swear he was only touching you for the sake of learning how it feels to touch a human so intimately.

 

Had he ever been with a human before…?

 

And then, he stopped.  Grillby’s lips stilled before pulling away with trepidation, but his eyes remained locked with your own to gauge your reaction to what had just transpired.  Would you be angrier than before? Calmed? Excited? He hoped for either of the latter two options, but as he studied your furrowed brow and delicately parted lips, the only emotion he could find was confusion.  

 

Grillby, himself, was quite confused at his situation, as well.  He had never expected to be so attracted to a human, let alone a human that he had just met a few hours prior.  Despite his rational being combatting every attempt to admit it to himself, he became an undeniable victim of what humans refer to as ‘love at first sight.’  As soon as he laid eyes on her in his restaurant, he felt a discernible need to speak with her, to observe her, to be around her, to touch her— he needed  _ her _ .  He could feel the tangible tug on his Soul when she walked into his life, and now he never wanted her to leave.

 

As much as he hated to say it, after nearly two hundred years of living, he had finally found his Soulmate— and it was a Goddamned human.

  
Grillby’s rational side considered it to be bad luck to end up falling in love with a human, the very thing that had trapped his kind in the Underground for millennia.  He felt no ill will towards the humans of today, but he, like most other Monsters, had been raised to despise humans for his wrongful imprisonment. Now, through some kind of grand cosmic irony, Grillby was stuck in a Soul bond with what he had once considered the enemy.

 

You, however, were entirely ignorant to the bond that you shared with Grillby.  As a human, your body didn’t contain the necessary magic to recognize the Soul bond the same way that your Monster counterpart did.  You had absolutely no idea that the Monster standing on the other side of the bar this afternoon was the other half to your incomplete self.

 

Neither of you spoke as you continued to study each other’s expressions, trying to guess what the other was thinking.  The only sound that cut through your awkward silence came from the water sloshing around in the dishwasher that Grillby had just turned on.  

 

In that instant, you didn’t know why you flung your arms around his neck and threw your weight against his body, pushing him against the kitchen counter.  You didn’t know why you roughly crushed your lips to his again. You didn’t know why you were stuffing your tongue into his mouth to taste him.  

 

It just felt  _ right _ .

 

Your heart seemed to be doing somersaults in your chest, the powerful beats reverberating in your ears as your heart pumped to bring oxygen-rich blood to your brain.  Your body seemed to be taking orders from someone else entirely because  _ you _ certainly weren’t the one telling it what to do at this point.  You denied any capability of kissing your employer of your own free will.  Not only is it wrong, but it’s also incredibly  _ stupid! _

 

And yet, here you were.

 

Grillby’s warmth felt comforting, like a balmy day at the beach, but at the same time it coaxed goosebumps from your skin like a cold gust of winter air.  When his arms, strong and hypnotic, wrapped around your waist to pull you closer, you felt the reality of the situation slipping from your fingers like a fistful of sand.  Your sharp intakes of breath between kisses were filled with his burning scent, only serving to build up your arousal. You noted that the smell reminded you of a bonfire burning deep within the forest in the dead of night, surrounded by cool and humid air.  In fact, standing before a large bonfire was exactly to what you likened your current situation— dry, intense heat radiated against your face while the rest of your body attempted to bask in the same warmth to escape the surrounding cool air.  

 

Soft groans rumbled from Grillby’s throat as he fell into the magical kiss with you.  His flames grew higher and brighter as your tender kiss grew more passionate. His fingertips, feeling more akin to rigid feathers, lightly grazed your lower back as they found their way under your shirt once more, touching your goosebump-riddled flesh and fingering the divot of your spine to map it out with genuine curiosity.  His heated grip dug into your hips tentatively, mentally estimating how fragile you might be by the way that your flesh gave under his grasp. He still didn’t have much of an idea of who you were, but he was met with a quiet moan that flowed past your lips and into his own mouth. It was at that moment that Grillby felt confident that he could continue to tread rougher waters with you.

 

Your hand moved to cup his cheek with your palm, firmly guiding his kiss to suit your liking.  His jaw felt solid and strong as he moved his lips to match yours, softly nipping and flicking his tongue along your lower lip.  You met his kiss in tandem, keeping up with his increasing fervor as yours quickly followed suit. Your hand wandered from his jaw to over his ear and finally through his hair.  Your mind was so clouded with desire that you had honestly forgotten that he was a Monster, but you were given a swift reality check when you registered flames lapping at your grip rather than human hair.  

 

You recoiled as if he had burned you, even though you had never noticed him to be any warmer than what you remembered hot tap water to be.  You double-checked your hand, turning it over and searching for burns or even red marks as your chest heaved from your excitement. Even though you found none, you still felt scared and unsure.

 

Was this a rebound?  You had just lost your partner for so many years, and now you were just going to smooch the first person to come on to you?  This didn’t feel like you. You had more dignity than this. Weren’t you just mad as hell, ready to slap Grillby? Where did that anger go?  

 

“I— I don’t…” you began, but you never finished.  You didn’t know what to say. You were too exhausted to be angry anymore.

 

Grillby seemed disappointed when you pulled away from him entirely, but his concern for you commanded his attention when he noticed your look of uncertainty.  He took a moment to compose himself, drawing a deep and steadying breath. He straightened his back and patted the front of his vest to smooth out any wrinkles that might have accumulated.  He coughed into his fist to clear his throat before responding.  

 

“I’m sorry.  You’re… not in a good place right now.  I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

Your emotions were difficult to pinpoint, but you knew that you did not want to continue.  You needed more time to think. All you did was nod and stare at his shoes.  

 

Grillby waited for you to say something more, but you never did.  A pregnant pause stood between you two, and you both listened to the dishwasher running as you expected the other to say something.  

 

Grillby broke the stalemate silence as he skirted past you.  “The guest room is down this hall.” His tone reflected that he felt humbled and ashamed by what he had done.  You found your purse and followed him down the hall, the creaking floorboards under your feet sounding more like angry hisses.  

 

He stopped at the end of the hallway and pushed open a door to reveal a small guest bedroom.  He flipped on the switch to the overhead light as you stepped past him, standing in the middle of the room to take it all in.  Free weights coated in a thin layer of dust laid in the corner of the room next to an upright bag of golf clubs (also coated in a layer of dust).  The full bed, whose headboard sat flush with the center of the adjacent wall, was barren save for a simple white comforter and two white pillows. Next to the bed was a basic bedside table, complete with a small lamp from the nearest big box store and an alarm clock with a cherry red  _ 12:00am _ time stamp blinking over and over again. 

 

“Make yourself at home,” Grillby insisted.  “I keep some extra clothes in the closet there.”  He vaguely swept his hand to the side to point out the closet on the other wall.  “You may wear anything you like. There should be blankets in there, too, in case you get cold.  The bathroom is the next door down, on the left.”

 

He looked at you expectantly, but you didn’t have anything to give him aside from another curt nod and a quiet, “Thank you.”

 

Grillby nodded to you in reply and wrung his hands together anxiously.  “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” He then turned to leave, but you called out to him.

 

“Wait.  Grillby?”

 

He turned back to face you without hesitation.  Once again, Grillby looked at you expectantly with one eyebrow cocked behind his glasses.  He was ready to hear whatever it was that you were thinking. He would be okay if you just wanted to order a Vuber for a ride home, and of course you would seek employment elsewhere.  He came to terms with the possibility of pushing you away after such a brazen lack of self control on his part, even though  _ you _ were the one to initiate the second and notably more intense kiss.

 

“You said nine, right?”

 

Grillby blinked as he tried to register what you meant, but he quickly realized that you meant returning to the restaurant for work. 

 

“Oh.  Yes, nine, if you still want the job,” he clarified.  “If not, I’ll send your wages for today to the address listed on your resume.”  He paused a bit before heaving a large sigh, releasing the weight of his stress from his sagged shoulders.  “Again, I’m... sorry… for what was said earlier. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business.”

 

You mulled over his apology in your mind for a moment.  He was genuine. He seemed just as confused as you.  

 

“...I’m willing to pretend it never happened,” you offered.  “I need a place to work, and you need a server. Let’s just... leave it at that.”

 

Grillby nodded tersely.  “Of course. Cleaned slate.  See you at nine.” He shut the door behind him and you listened to his footsteps as he retreated back down the hallway to his own room.  

 

You rummaged around the closet to find an old long sleeved t-shirt.  You removed your sweaty and fry-oil-smelling clothes before tugging the fresh shirt over your head and poking your arms through the sleeves  You sinfully relished in the way that it smelled like Grillby.

 

When you laid down in the bed, staring up at the ceiling in complete darkness aside from the streetlights below filtering through the slits in the blinds, you felt more alone than you had anticipated.  You heaved a burdensome sigh. 

 

And then you reached down to slip your fingers into your aching pussy to relieve some of that burden.  You inhaled his lingering scent on the sleeve of the t-shirt you wore. The more sexually liberated side of you started to ponder the ins and outs of having sex with a flame Monster, and soon those ponderings turned into downright  _ nasty _ fantasies.  In your mind, boiling hot fingers replaced your own as they pumped inside your velvety walls, dragging across every nerve and eliciting quiet moans of pleasure from behind the hand you had clamped over your mouth.  

 

Ten minutes later, you came so hard that you saw stars.  

 

Grillby’s evening ended in much the same way.  He removed his clothes until he was completely nude, ignoring his reflection in the mirror as he couldn’t come to terms with the sinful, manipulating creature he had become.  As he fell into his bed, he plucked his glasses from his face and pinched the bridge of his nose behind a heavy sigh. The day caught up with him, and he stared at the fan revolving on his ceiling as he thought back to the day’s events.  

 

He thought of opening the restaurant that day, taking inventory of what food he needed to order, and he thought of tallying Sans’s tab for the week, and he thought of the way that that beautiful human had smiled at him when she first met him.

 

And then Grillby jerked his throbbing cock to depraved thoughts of how tonight could have ended.  His disgust with himself melted away as he pleasured himself, rolling his foreskin back and forth over his dick, squeezing it and imagining that it was  _ your _ hand squeezing him instead.  He wondered how it would feel to have sex with a human.  He would need to be careful with her, if she ever let him come near her again.

 

As he came off the orgasmic high from his ejaculation, his self-loathing caught back up to him.  He was left staring at the fan in silence once more. If he stuck his head into the fan, would it cleanly decapitate him?  He doubted the effectiveness of a common household ceiling fan.

 

Despite Grillby’s guilt and self-loathing, and despite your fresh grief and unease at Grillby’s behavior, the both of you fell asleep quite easily with the knowledge that the other was nearby. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WhoaWickedSins) now that tumblr has gone to shit. 
> 
> I'll now [open the floor for any questions](https://curiouscat.me/WhoaWickedSins).


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